Finally, Vebekka stirred and turned her head to face the maid. "Would you be so kind as to take the drips out of my hand? It hurts me."
"I don't think I can, Baroness, Anne Marie is not here, and the baron and Dr. Masters are also out."
Vebekka sighed and Hilda returned to her knitting. Suddenly Vebekka ripped off the adhesive, pulled out the needles and tossed them aside.
Vebekka smiled coyly at Hilda, and curled up on her side. Hilda could do nothing but pick up the adhesive from the floor, and hang up the drips, switching them off.
"Hilda, will you call room service? I want some vanilla ice cream, with chocolate sauce and nuts, and those chocolate biscuits."
Hilda obliged, and in due course a trolley was sent up with some chocolate biscuits and the ice cream. She helped Vebekka sit up, and watched in amazement as the baroness slowly began to eat. Like a squirrel she nibbled and sucked at the spoon with such childish delight that Hilda felt even more motherly toward her than before; she tried to hint that perhaps eating so much sweet food was not good for her, but her words were ignored. Slowly, Vebekka demolished the entire tray of sweets.
Vebekka snuggled down in bed, dark chocolate stains around her mouth and on her fingertips. The clicking of Hilda's knitting needles was soothing, and she slept again. When a roll of thunder was heard, her hand slipped from the warmth of the covers to hold Hilda's, and the knitting was quietly put aside.
Anne Marie inched open the door, and crept into the room; she put her fingers to her lips and looked at the dressing table. She began to take all the bottles of medicine and pills and then she rifled the vanity cases. Her arms full of bottles, she came to Hilda's side and whispered. "The doctor said she is to have no more medication, no more sedation, unless from him!"
Anne Marie hurried from the room and returned with a large packet, unwrapped it, and held it out to show Hilda.
"You know what this is?"
Hilda shook her head, and put her fingers to her lips for Anne Marie to lower her voice.
"It's a straitjacket! I don't know about this great doctor, if you ask me he's yet another quack... so I got this just in case."
Anne Marie put the jacket down, was about to leave when she saw that the drips were not attached. "Who took those out?"
Hilda gripped Vebekka's hand and whispered, "I did, they were causing her pain; let her sleep."
Anne Marie pursed her lips. "She needs glucose, she's got to keep up her strength. I'll have to redo them."
Hilda felt the baroness's fingers tighten, her grip was so tight it hurt her. Hilda knew she was awake, but she didn't give her away.
"When she wakes, I'll call you, but she has just eaten, and I think it is better she sleep."
Anne Marie hesitated and then walked to the door. "But I have not seen them, and I will not take any responsibility..."
The grip relaxed, and Hilda gently patted Vebekka's hand. She straightened the bedcovers, and was touched when the sick woman slipped her arms around Hilda's neck and kissed her in gratitude.
"I have a terrible fear of needles — of things in my body — she knows, but she hates me. Thank you."
Hilda smiled, returned to her chair. She picked up her knitting, and Vebekka laughed softly. "Not knitting needles, though!"
Dr. Franks swiveled in his chair. "Your nurse, Anne Marie, says your wife has some kind of, well, not exactly an obsession, but boxes, vanity boxes... she always travels with three, sometimes four, yes?"
The baron looked puzzled. "Yes, they are part of her luggage, one is for her jewelry, one for makeup, one for medical and... I suppose it seems excessive, but not out of the ordinary. I can't understand why on earth the girl would even discuss my wife's traveling accessories with you!"
Franks leaned on his elbows. "Because I asked. You and your wife travel extensively? And these boxes always accompany her?"
"Yes, so do our cases, and trunks. Perhaps you will find some ulterior motive in the fact I always have more..."
Franks interrupted. "I am interested only in your wife at the moment, Baron, and the fact she always travels with an extensive wardrobe, but rarely if ever wears three quarters of the contents. According to Anne Marie many items your wife insists on traveling with have never been worn, yes? What I am trying to determine is, does your wife appear, in your personal opinion, to have items of clothing in very different styles? Does she, perhaps, appear to you as different characters, or seem different to you at times?"
"That is the entire reason I am here. My wife has periods of sanity and insanity."
Franks wandered around the room. "Has anyone ever suggested to you that your wife may have a personality disorder? Could she possibly be a multiple personality?"
The baron shook his head and glared at Helen Masters.
Franks turned his attention to her. "What do you think?"
"No, I don't think she is, or I didn't, but she said something that'll interest you. I wrote it down actually."
Helen opened her bag and took out a small notebook. "When I found her last night, she said, 'We have done something terrible.' Not I, but we."
The telephone rang. Franks snatched it up, but spoke only a second before he handed it to the baron.
"It's for you, long distance. If you need privacy, I am sure Dr. Masters and I can..."
The baron gestured with his hand for them to stay, as he listened to the caller. He then covered the mouthpiece. "It's all right, it's Franchise, my secretary, from Paris."
The call went on for some time, the baron saying little but making notes. Helen whispered to Franks. "She is very particular about her clothes, but I have never noticed a marked difference in styles — say, little girl to tart. I would simply say that the baroness has a wardrobe any woman would be envious of. However, she does seem to be very obsessive about the vanity cases."
Helen was interrupted as the baron dropped the phone back on the hook and sighed. "Gerard, my man in New York, has been having great difficulty tracing my wife's family. He started at her old modeling agency. They had no record of Vebekka ever having signed with them. They then passed him on to someone who had run the agency before them. He said that he never had anyone by the name of Vebekka, but later that evening he called back to say he had made a mistake, that in fact he had represented a girl called Rebecca Lynsey; he recalled she later changed her name to Vebekka, using just her Christian name for work. He had no records on hand but would see if he could find his ex-wife, who ran the business with him. But one thing he was sure about, or as sure as he could be."
The baron seemed very disturbed as he continued: "He said that my wife's maiden name, Lynsey, was not her real name, but one used for modeling. He could not recall ever having heard her real last name. Why would she have lied to me? I don't understand it!"
Franks rubbed his head. "But when her father died, didn't you see a name, something to indicate Lynsey wasn't her family name?"
The baron shook his head. "Gerard'll call again as soon as he has anything else. He's going to Philadelphia tonight. I don't understand. Lynsey was the name on her passport, I'm sure of it. I've asked him to fax any new information to the hotel."
Franks raised an eyebrow to Helen. "She has never referred to herself as Rebecca?"
The baron shook his head. "No, never. I have always known her as Vebekka Lynsey."
"When she was in New York, did she meet anyone there, have friends there?"
"No, we have mutual friends, or family friends, but I have never seen anyone walk up to her and call her Rebecca, if that is what you mean. I have never seen her birth certificate. There never seemed to be a reason before now, that is, if there is a valid reason now!"
Franks's eyes turned flinty as he said, "I am simply trying to find clues to your wife's mental problems because I want to begin my treatment as soon as she is physically capable of walking into this place unaided."